Winter Tidings
by JustAGirlWhoLikesToSayHi
Summary: Jack Frost meets the Lone Centurion and assumes he's a myth like him, which he is, sort of. One-shot.


**A/N: **This story has been stewing on my PC for months, and I figured now would probably been an appropriate time to post it. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I have no ownership in the official-ness of these two fandoms, just my story idea.

* * *

_September 7, 1940_

One chilly, Autumn day, Jack Frost figured he didn't visit Europe often enough, so he cruised, on the Wind, through the continent's countries in an ethnic blur, mentally picking out places to revisit for longer than a few minutes. From Moscow's colorful architecture to the canal-ridden streets of Venice, the winter spirit did not finish his sightseeing journey until nightfall, making his last stop in Britain. The full moon was out at maximum luminescence that night, with nary a cloud to cover its brilliance. Jack tried not to scowl too hard at the near-blinding orb as he landed atop the Big Ben overlooking the Thames. On a whim, Jack lingered about the city of London instead of heading straight back to his lake in Burgess. He was over a warehouse district when he saw something interesting through a building window caught his eyes.

There was a big black box sitting in the center of the massive room. Curiosity piqued, Jack opened a glass pane on the roof and flitted in for a closer inspection. The intricate carvings on all sides of the cube, the ones he could see, fascinated him. He drew nearer, eager to touch the ebony surface. As his feet alighted on the ground, there was a swish and a glint, and Jack Frost was suddenly faced with the end of a sharp (very sharp) blade pointed at his throat.

Holding the hilt at the other, safer end of the sword, a man dressed in Roman Centurion armor was glaring at him menacingly, "Do not touch her."

Jack, cheeky teen that he was, decided it would be a brilliant idea to speak, "Who are you?"

The man sighed, as one who was asked the same question too many times, and straightened up, "I am the Lone Centurion, and the Pandorica is under my protection."

"Pandorica? You mean the big black box of mystery?" He was stalling now, working the new information in his head. The name tickled at the back of his mind. It was familiar, likely to have come from eavesdropping on people or on the rare occasion he was able to chat with another spirit. Then, it clicked. No wonder the guy could see him. He was a myth, too. His excitement from being noticed by another person deflated a bit. Even if it was a weird, big-nosed human adult, he would have liked to know that someone believed in him.

"Hey."

Oops. Jack must have spaced out during the Roman's explanation of the box. He turned his attention back to the Centurion, who was staring at him oddly.

"Well, I answered your questions. It's only polite that you answer mine."

"I'd feel more comfortable helping with that if I didn't have a pointy stick ready to slice my neck open," Jack was suddenly very tired and not a tiny bit disappointed. He just wanted to satisfy his curiosity and go home.

The Centurion shrugged, deeming him harmless to his charge, and lowered and sheathed his sword. In a much more gentle voice, he queried, "What's your name?"

The winter spirit relaxed, slipping back into his mischievous persona. Twirling his staff, he strolled about in a tight circle, careful not to get too close to the box. He smirked up at the man before slamming his staff on the ground, keeping it upright with a formation of ice which trailed into patterns akin to the Pandorica's. Still grinning, he raised a hand to the bemused man, "Jack Frost."

He scoffed, but did not seem to disbelieve him, "He's just a myth."

"Last I checked so are you."

The Centurion considered this for a moment before proffering his own hand. Jack nearly pulled back from his touch out of surprise. The man had no warmth in his skin, no pulse. He was tense as well but made no move to end the handshake abruptly.

"So," the Lone Centurion's attempt at being casual as they released their grips was nearly laughable in his shiny, golden armor, flowing red cape, and feathery helmet. "What are you doing in London? You _do_ know Europe is in the midst of war, right?"

Jack shrugged, dismissing the memory of eerie smoke columns in the backgrounds of some of the places he had traveled, "It doesn't seem too bad."

"Doesn't seem too-" the man resisted the urge to pinch his furrowed brow and opted to sighing loudly. He gestured at Jack's gangly, somewhat fragile form. "So you've been running barefoot around the countryside-"

"I don't run."

The man gave him a skeptic look, "So you fly."

"I like to call it 'riding the Wind.'"

"With someone as conspicuous as you, I'm surprised you haven't been shot out of the sky."

"Conspicuous?" Jack barked out a bitter laugh. "What makes you think I'm conspicuous?"

"Well," he shifted uncomfortably. "You've got blinding white hair."

"Yeah?"

"You're cold as death."

"Really? Hadn't noticed."

"You've got that shepherd's staff."

"Mmhm."

"You can apparently fly through the wind."

"Yep."

"And you can form ice with just a touch."

"Brilliant analysis, Sherlock," the eternal teen clapped, slow and condescending. "Except, you forgot rule one of being a myth. If no one really believes in you, they can't actually see you, can they?"

"What?"

Jack felt like pulling his hair out, "Don't you get it? No belief means no one can see me! For a myth, you don't seem to know much about being one. Where have you been living? Under a rock?"

The Centurion had the nerve to chuckle, "Yeah, just for a bit. Decided Stonehenge wasn't the best place to stay for a couple millennia."

Now it was time for Jack to be confused, "What?"

"So tell me, Jack. Why can I see you? Is it because I'm a myth, too? Or is it because I'm ready to believe in just about anything?"

"I- A bit of both, I guess?" The teen tilted his head to the side. "Does it matter? You're not exactly the demographic I'm panning for."

The Roman mirrored the gesture, raising an eyebrow in response, "And that demographic would be?"

"Kids," Jack puffed out a small cloud of frost. "There's something about them that makes me want them to notice me. I give them snow days and fun all in the hopes that they'll recognize my name and see me standing there with this huge grin in my face." He kicked at his staff moodily, freeing it from its position, twirling it once with his fingers, and resting it comfortably on his shoulder. "The Guardians don't seem to approve of my methods, though."

"And the Guardians are...?"

"The Big Four?" At his blank look, Jack grinned. "You really are clueless, aren't you? The Sandman, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny?" He tapped his shepherd's hook at the ground as he stated each name, creating silhouettes of the persons in question. "Those names ring a bell to you? They were chosen by the Man in the Moon - don't ask - to be the protectors of children. He gave them signs to form up and keep kids away from those who would do them harm."

"What like the boogie man?"

"Exactly like the boogie man," the last ice picture was significantly less cheerful than the others. It exuded a malevolence that put the Centurion on edge. Jack dismissed it quickly, feeling uneasy himself at mentioning a person who was practically taboo for myths. "He's old news, now. Nothing to worry about."

The man nodded slowly as he processed the winter spirit's words, "Does the Man in the Moon talk to all myths? What about you?"

"I don't know. He only gave me my name when I was 'born' and nothing else. I've been waiting over 200 years for a sign," he sighed, glaring half-heartedly at the moon shining through the dusty skylight.

The man nodded empathetically, "I've been waiting, too. For much, much longer."

"For the moon?"

"No, for a man... Don't give me that look," the Lone Centurion's voice rose to an unmanly octave. "I don't mean it like that. He's a friend. Just a friend - not that there's anything wrong with being more than friends with another guy. But, uh, anyways, he's going to help me save her."

"Who? The Pandorica?"

"What? No, I mean the one inside the Pandorica."

"There's someone inside this thing?" Jack gazed at the black box incredulously. "How are they alive?!"

"She," the Roman corrected. "While she's inside the Pandorica, she's locked away from everything, even death."

"She died?"

"Because I killed her," he held up his hands defensively as Jack hastily sprung away from him. "I didn't mean -" he fidgeted and turned away. "I hate this part - I wasn't in control of my body. I wasn't even really me, just my mind in a fake body. I tried to stop." His breath came out harsh, tears pricking at his eyes. "Christ, I told her to leave me. To run. Why didn't she listen?!"

"Woah, woah, calm down!" Jack placed his staff between him and the increasingly hysterical centurion. "Please!" It was not until after the Roman had calmed down and apologized -muttering a stream of "I'm okay"s and "Sorry"s - did the winter spirit lower his guard. "I guess being the LONE Centurion takes its toll on you."

"That's not - I - Call me Rory, please," breathed the Roman as he rubbed a shaky hand over his haggard face. "That's my real name. Rory Williams."

"Rory? That doesn't sound very Roman."

"It's... complicated," Rory shrugged, less soldier and more average bloke. "Very - if he knew I said this, I wouldn't hear the end of it - wibbly wobbly timey wimey. But, I haven't been called anything but the Lone Centurion in a long while, so thanks, Jack."

"Welcome," the teen responded casually, ready to freeze him at any moment in case another mood swing brought the gladius out again. "So, how long's a while?"

"How long did you say you've been you? 200 years?" When Jack nodded, Rory did the math in his head. "I've been around since about 100 A.D. give or take a few years? So, a little over 1800."

Jack gawked at him, awestruck, "You're older than the Guardians."

"Am I?" Rory did not sound all that impressed with the revelation. He did raise his head and chuckle dryly when another thought drifted into his mind. "I'm older than Him, too. Brilliant."

Jack contemplated the man before him, the differences between their goals was a massive chasm. Unlike the Guardians who always had something to do - for North and Bunnymund, it was preparation for a sole event in the year whilst Sandy's and Tooth's jobs were 24/7 - the Centurion's (Rory's, his name is Rory) only mission was to protect the Pandorica and wait for this mysterious man to arrive, "Tell me about them. The woman in the box and the man who will help you save her."

"Amy," Rory caressed the Pandorica as he would a person's cheek. For a split second, he could almost see her fiery red hair and spirited pools of green. "Her name is Amy, and I'm waiting for her as much as I am waiting for the Doctor."

A peal of laughter escaped Jack's lips before he could stop himself, "What kind of a name is the Doctor? Who would call themselves that?"

"Exactly," Jack wondered if there would always be something he said that would make Rory look at him like he missed the punch line to the greatest joke in the world. "We used to travel together, the Doctor, Amy, and I, before the Pandorica and becoming the Centurion. I was going to marry her - Amy, I mean - even before that. Then, the Doctor came along, and we went from one adventure to the next. If you looked past all of the near death experiences, it was actually quite fun."

"That's nice," Jack sighed wistfully. "I don't remember anything before," He gestured at himself. "This."

"Nothing at all?" Rory frowned when the teen did not respond. "You said the Man in the Moon gave you your name. He could just as easily help you remember."

"But he hasn't and he won't. I'm sure of that," his voice broke a bit at the last words. Resignation.

"There has to be a reason behind it," the man urged, eager to help this lost teen. "Maybe... Oh. OH."

"What?" Jack looked up at Rory's scrunched face. The Roman was staring at him with very old and very sad eyes. "What is it?"

"I think," Rory ventured slowly. "It would be better, for right now, not to worry about those memories."

"Yeah, haha," Jack deadpanned. "Sure. I'll abandon one of the only two things that have been bothering me for a few centuries."

"For now," he repeated hastily. "Jack, there's a war going on, and I think children would appreciate your help, even if they don't know you."

"Why?" the winter spirit narrowed his eyes.

"Terrible things are happening and are going to happen," Rory supplied gravely, eyes dark. "Memories are the least of anybody's worries, now."

"Rory, what aren't you saying?" Before the Brit could reply, a loud explosion sounded from far away, the blast strong enough to cause the ground to shake where they were standing.

"It's here," the Centurion murmured under his breath, adjusting his helmet and springing to action.

"What was that?!" Jack shouted, questioning both the explosion and Rory's low utterance. He watched the man tighten a thick length of rope that had been laying idle at the Pandorica's base so that it hugged the box's middle. "Rory, what's going on?"

"You need to leave, Jack," the Roman soldier, for bumbling Rory was nowhere in his rigid face, ordered sharply. "Get out."

"What?!" Jack sputtered, frozen in place. "But-"

"It's not safe here," the Centurion stated, checking and double-checking knots. "It won't be for quite a while. You need to go."

"I -" the Wind had picked up around Jack, urging him to follow the man's suggestion. "What about you?"

"The Pandorica, remember? I can't leave her," Rory's eyes softened. "I can't leave Amy. I could never."

"But you'll get out of here, too, right?"

"Yeah," he bobbed his head, throwing a lopsided smile (its reassurance betrayed by his nervous eyes). "When I have to. Now, this is the last time I'm saying this, Jack. Go. The children need you, right? See you later."

"Really?" Jack hesitated, his legs bent and ready to jump in the air. "Will I really see you again?"

Rory shrugged helplessly, "It would be nice to see a friendly face every now and again."

The winter spirit snorted, finally leaping up with a whirl, the Wind picking him up as it always did, "So, what? Does that mean we're friends, then?"

His smile, this time, was genuine, "I thought that was obvious." The Lone Centurion turned back to his charge, adjusting the ropes so he could pull the Pandorica to safety whenever he needed to. "Bye, Jack."

The teen grinned widely as he quickly ascended to the ceiling, "See ya, Rory."

Jack shot through the window, into the chilly night air. Nose catching a whiff of smoke, he looked towards where the explosion had hit, gasping as the beginnings of chaos alighted upon London. As another bomb (what else could it be?) rocked the earth, Jack shot one last lingering glance at the warehouse before soaring away from the oncoming devastation and back to the blissful peace of his lake in Burgess.

* * *

_December 25, 1940_

Rory Williams wondered if the Nazis would spare Christmas. Then, a somehow less absurd idea crossed his mind. He wondered how Santa Claus would deliver presents to the children in the city when most of them were homeless on the streets or tucked away in stuffy bomb shelters wide awake. The Centurion laughed, he was definitely at his wits end.

History was never his strong point, as it was for Amy. He knew the important bits, of course, especially when it came to British history, but he could not quite remember how long the Blitz would last. From what he recalled, it would be for a good few months; however, as the weeks continued to drag on, with him awakening from infrequent dozes to the frightening sound of explosions, Rory felt as if it would never end. Maybe he wouldn't be able to get the Pandorica out in time if the bombs got too close, so all that was left of him would be a melted puddle of plastic, unable to see Amy ever again.

The cacophony that would have pierced the ear drums of a normal human being sprung the plastic Centurion into motion instead of disorienting him. There was no time to think about 'what if's anymore. He grasped at the ropes bound to the Pandorica, sounds of desolation growing ever nearer, braced his synthetic muscles, and pulled. Grateful for the lack of physical inhibitions of being a Nestene Duplicate, he barely felt the strain as he inched the prison towards the warehouse doors. He groaned as he came to a stop at the rusty chained door handles, cursing his lack of foresight (the chains had been placed there to keep intruders out) as he drew his sword to break the links and wrench the creaking metal planes open. Just a bit more, and he was home free.

The world erupted in flames, smoke, and shattered pieces of structure before Rory could return his grip on the sinew bonds. "Nononononono!" He fumbled for a millisecond to take the binds back into his arms, feeling the pressure as acrid smoke hit his nostrils and heat poured onto his non-flesh back. Heaving the Pandorica forward once more, the Lone Centurion exerted as much force as he possibly could, swearing to himself that he would not leave Amy like this, alone and unsafe for the next decades. The Doctor had never explained how durable the prison was, and Rory was determined not to find out here.

Fire was rapidly consuming the building, growing in intensity and licking at the edges of the doorway. Rory could feel his skin heating up, ready to liquefy and turn him into a useless, unthinking and fully dead puddle. He roared in frustration, tears pricking up at the corners of his eyes. More time. Just a bit more time, and Amy would be safe!

Everything seemed to have been encased in a cocoon of jello in the next moments: the whirr of an aircraft overhead, whistle of a projectile being released, and ever-so horrifically slowly falling to finish off the warehouse. Impact. Rory's eyes were alight with fiery terror. This was it.

"Goodbye, Amy."

xoxoxoxo

oxoxoxox

xoxoxoxo

"You seriously can't be giving up now, right, old man?"

Mouth agape, Rory looked up and thought he was dreaming. Cold air, alight with snowflakes, swirled about protectively around the Centurion and the Pandorica, keeping the flames at bay. Smirking and laying comfortably in the Wind's embrace, Jack Frost waved down at Rory.

"Uh, hi," was all the Brit could manage under the circumstances.

"Let's get Amy out of here, yeah?" Jack flitted over to the back of the Pandorica when Rory nodded. "I'll push."

Between the two myths, they moved the box out of the range of destruction. Jack, physically exhausted from cold manipulation and pushing the Pandorica, dropped onto the top of the prison, legs dangling off the side and staff resting on his lap. Rory slumped against the carved surface of the same side, right underneath the winter spirit, allowing (for the moment) the teen to touch his charge. Both solemnly watched as part of London burned, neither knowing when it would end.

"So," Jack began, sighing as the attackers finally withdrew to return another day. "What now?"

"People are going to come here to see the damage. I won't be able to stop them from spotting the Pandorica; and admittedly," Rory exhaled heavily. "I don't think I want to. Most people know the box is important, a long-standing part in history, so they'll want to keep it, Amy along for the ride, in a museum. I'm quite sure they'll not want a living legend as an exhibit, though." He rubbed a weary hand over his ashen face. "It's time for me to stop being the Lone Centurion."

Jack nearly fell over in surprise, "Rory, you can't just stop being a myth!" He paused. "Can you?"

"I just mean this," he gestured at his ostentatious outfit. "I can't be all 'Mr. Menacing Roman' anymore. Lose the armor, and I'm still me, just less noticeable. It'll be easier, I guess. I could get a job as a security guard or something when I find out which museum she'll be taken to. Probably won't be able to keep the gladius around, though, but," he curled the fingers on his right hand. "I'll still have something, and possibly pockets to put things in. My family's always liked being prepared."

"That's great," Jack interjected, tone flat. "You've got the next couple of decades planned out for you. Now, tell me," he hopped off the Pandorica to sit next to the plastic man. "What was that you were saying last time? About not worrying about my memories? What do you know?"

"I don't," Rory halted his speech, searching for the right words. "_know _for sure. But from my own experiences, I think I have an idea as to what happened before," he waved a hand at Jack's form. "This. However, I don't think it's in my boundaries to tell you. You're going to have to find out for yourself, Jack."

The winter spirit groaned, jumping to his feet, "More waiting, then?"

"Yup," Rory affirmed, popping the 'p' at the end as he joined the teen in standing. He had already begun shedding the bulky bits of his armor. Farewell, flowing, red cape. So long, golden chest plate. And for the feathery helmet...

Jack yelped as a slightly too-large piece of headgear was unceremoniously plopped on his head, "Hey!" He wrenched it off his snowy locks, managing to keep hold of his staff in the crook of his arm.

"A reminder to visit me again," Rory explained, placing his discarded uniform in a neat pile by his feet. "Although, next time, I'd rather you come back here when the war's over. You'll know it by the obscene amount of celebrating."

"Thanks..." The winter spirit trailed off, admiring the untarnished surface of the centuries-old helmet.

"You saved me, Jack. Me and Amy," Rory grinned, wondering if it would be worth the awkwardness if he hugged him. "I owe you so much. When the Doctor comes and Amy's back, I'll spread the tale of Jack Frost to my patients, to everyone, actually."

"Your patients?"

"I'm a nurse," he stated proudly. "Or, at least, I will be, though, I am already... Talking about you… that will help spread belief, won't it? I - oof!"

Helmet and staff clattered to the ground as a lonely child expressed his gratitude to the one person who was willing to help him fulfill his dream. Jack let out a half-laugh/half-sob as he hugged his friend (HE had a friend), and Rory kindly returned the gesture. After a minute, the winter spirit withdrew, hastily collecting his possessions (one old and one new) as an odd blue blush graced his face.

"Well, um, yeah," he coughed into his fist and sprung into flight. "See you later, Rory?"

"You'd better," the man smiled, jerking his head at the helmet held under the teen's arm. Voices and footsteps cut their farewell short. Rory picked up his Centurion uniform, nodded once at his friend, and disappeared into the night, but not until he finished speaking. "Bye, Jack. Happy Christmas."

When the war ended, the Pandorica made its last move to the National Museum. Rory had to admit that he preferred his security guard uniform over his Centurion one; it was surprisingly comfortable to move around in (and the copious amount of pockets didn't hurt either). The job (which also did not pay particularly well, though, it did not matter since Rory had no use for money most of the time and ended up donating all of it to war relief efforts whenever his paycheck came in) was horrendously easy to obtain, too. He just needed to make sure no one delved too deeply into his 'past' and become that uncannily resemblant son or nephew every decade or so while keeping those star cult fanatics at bay.

Jack visited every now and then, to hang out and talk about what he had been doing between each meeting and ask for more details about Rory's adventures with the Doctor and Amy. The elder of the two occasionally prepared a list of mythical creatures to affirm whether they were real or not. It was a nice routine they had going, for Jack, who had the freedom to go anywhere he liked but had a small pool of people that he could interact with, and for Rory, self-restricted to the Pandorica and so ancient that he was out of touch with the times he was living through. The moments were erratic and occasionally filled with awkwardness, but they would not have it any other way.

Then, the year 1968 rolled around, and Jack never came back.

Rory fretted for months before shoving the worry for his spirited friend to one of the many recesses of his mind. Deep enough that it only faintly tickled at his nerves but not enough to be shoved together with the numerous sorrows, losses of friends aged to dust or lost too soon, he had suffered. By the time the Doctor arrived, the winter spirit had become a fleeting memory, precious, but not a priority. After the Big Bang Two reset the universe, Rory always felt melancholic during lulls in activity when they visited snowy times or planets. He had shaken off the emotion quickly, having to save the Doctor and Amy from whatever perils they had gotten themselves into. Those vague, bittersweet memories were locked behind a mental door with the rest of his time as the Lone Centurion.

* * *

_Christmas Eve, Year 20XX_

"That's not right."

"What isn't?" Amy queried, cuddled up against her husband on their couch. Dinner consumed and the Doctor off to visit River Song (with stern orders to come back the next day with her so they could spend it as a family), the couple were having a Christmas movies marathon. After the nostalgic cartoons and stop-motion animations, they had moved on to the comedic films, namely, the Santa Claus trilogy starring Tim Allen. They had finished the first two with no serious complaints, but when the villain of the third movie was introduced...

"Jack Frost isn't evil," Rory argued, wrinkling his nose at the power-hungry elemental's design. "And he certainly doesn't look like that."

She snorted, "How do you know?"

"I just-" His voice trailed off, his gaze having wandered front the television screen to the window. "Amy, it's snowing."

"Well, yeah, of course it is. It's Christmas," the ginger's smile froze on her face as the nurse rose and approached the glass. When he unhooked the latch and opened the window wide open, Amy shivered and moved to stand next to her spouse. "Rory, what are you doing?"

"Going out," he jerked away from the spot and scrambled towards the door, grabbing a coat and slipping on his shoes before tromping out into the night. The redhead was speechless as she followed after him. Spontaneity was primarily the Doctor's forte. They traveled swiftly, despite the slippery and sodden ground. Amy, growing worried when he did not answer her frequent questions about what was happening, observed him carefully. He seemed to be chasing after something, or someone. A thing or person she could not see. Pulling out her cell phone, Amelia Pond (Williams) speed dialed the one number, one she had only recently gotten after some severe hassling on her part, which would help explain what was happening.

xoxoxoxoxo

Rory caught him stopping in a nearby children's park, everything he touched curling into intricate frost designs (a pleasant surprise for all visitors who would come the next day). The man faltered, wondering if this had been the right decision. But... the way he was holding himself, though, was so much lighter and carefree. It seemed they had both found what they had been waiting for. Now was as good a time as any, right?

"I'm sorry," Rory cringed when his voice made the teen jump. Muttering another apology, his words spilled forward like a flood. "You won't remember anything of what I'm talking about, but let me say that I know you and I consider you a friend. That's why I'm apologizing. Two thousand years and one big reset button. I had to keep the memories back, but I forgot my promise to you in the process. So, sorry, and, uh, how are... things?"

"Rory, who are you talking to?" Amy hissed urgently, eyes darting around the area but seeing no one other than her husband. She went to grip his arm to have him face her, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. The Doctor had arrived, bow tie and all. A finger to his lips, the Time Lord gestured for his companion to watch.

"An old friend of mine," Rory breathed. "Jack Frost."

And for Amy, the winter spirit seemed to just appear, standing his bare-feet precariously on a teeter-totter a meter or so away from them. She glanced at her boys, both unsurprised and smiling. "Wha-"

He was like a startled animal, blue eyes wide and body tense. Taking a step back, the shifting of his weight caused the seesaw to fall to one side abruptly. As the wooden plane smacked against the ground, the snowy-headed teen fled into the sky, leaving behind frost and flakes.

Silence.

Quietly, the Doctor muttered that he would return to his task of retrieving River, told Amy to give Rory time to explain, and patted her husband on the back before leaving in the TARDIS, the vworp-vworp of the machine the only sound to pierce through the night. Amy gazed at her Rory, his eyes on the sky, and ever so gently took his hand and led him back to their home where they curled up in bed. In an hour's time, Rory was a whispering stream of apologies and explanations until she had calmed him down enough to tell her about his first meeting with Jack Frost and the burgeoning friendship that followed.

* * *

Skidding onto the frozen lake in Burgess, Jack finally stopped to breathe. The fear he had felt had long since passed. Really, what he seemed to feel now was an overwhelmingly concoction of joy, sadness, and (most of all) guilt. What was wrong with him? He had already known that belief in him was spreading to adults, especially ones with childlike hearts, but something about seeing that odd-nosed man struck a cord in his heart. The problem was he'd never met him before.

Right?

Whoosh! The Wind's caress billowed through his hair and clothes, indicating, with a none-too-gentle blow, a familiar spot bordering the lake. During his earlier years, the winter spirit had discovered a cupboard-sized hollow in this age-old tree and seen fit to store whatever bits and bobs (as well as spare clothes) struck his fancy inside it. For some reason, in the last few decades, he had only ever put things in, never taking the time to admire and reorganize his collection as he had before.

His hands had already begun sifting through his souvenirs, from wooden toys in disarray to rocks and shells from all his travels. He reached deeper and deeper into the niche, wondering for a moment if this urge was all in his head and nothing would come of this search. Then, his fingers brushed against metal and took firm hold of the object. What he brought out had a gold sheen and was unnaturally untarnished, feathers attached to the top so bright red that it seemed they had only just been plucked from the birds they had come from. He perused it curiously, wondering where he could have picked up such an item.

_"A reminder to visit me again."_

Jack gasped. The helmet fell to the icy ground as he trembled, curling his fingers tightly into his hair and scalp. Images and sounds, memories, burst into existence: A big black box. A Roman Centurion. And a lot of waiting. Teeth clenched, jaw tight, and eyes scrunched, he choked back a sob.

"How could I forget?"

* * *

_Christmas Day, 20XX_

Holiday tunes sang around the area as the Doctor and the Ponds (plus River) strolled about the streets of London. The Time Lord was abuzz with glee, happy that this Christmas with his companions was not full of alien mishaps, and skittered about market stalls to view their wares, his wife none too pleased with being dragged about to admire useless trinkets and too sweet and extravagant pastries. Rory and Amy followed them at a leisurely pace, the latter giggling wholeheartedly at her time-traveling child and in-law as the former smiled contentedly. Last night's events were still clear in his mind, but he pushed his wandering thoughts aside to enjoy this rare day with his family.

Night fell all too soon.

They were walking back to their house, front door the truest blue of all, and to where the TARDIS was comfortably resting in the backyard. Snowflakes drifted around them, elegant and wondrous. The Doctor was regaling them with a recent (for him) misadventure he had experienced with River (for her, not so recent). Moments from reaching the front door and the tale's end, the air's chill sharpened, so Rory looked up...

"Hi."

... And stared. Amy, startled at first, relaxed, murmuring to her husband to come inside when he was ready before moving past them to enter the house. The Doctor and River (who was urgently told that her 'shoot-y gun thing' was not required) were quick to follow, leaving Rory and a once-wayward winter spirit alone to talk. Jack fidgeted under the Centurion's scrutiny.

"I-"

"What happened in 1968?"

"..." The teen glanced away. "I may not have meant to, but I caused something terrible to happen; ruined Easter that year for a lot of kids. Couldn't show my face to you, I was too ashamed. So, I kept avoiding you. Then, I forgot. …Why did I forget?"

"The Doctor arrived. Time was falling apart, so he made a second Big Bang."

Jack chuckled, "Are you always going to give me explanations that pile on more questions than they do answers?"

"I'd go into detail, but I'd rather it be in the comfort of my own home. Would you like to come inside?"

"Your family won't mind?"

Rory smiled, "Definitely not. You said at some point that you wanted to meet them, right? The Doctor and Amy? There's River now, too. ...Unless you have other plans?"

"Nah," Jack grinned back at him. "I already spent most of the day with the Guardians."

"Oh, did you?" The Brit queried genially as he hopped up a few steps and opened the door for his friend.

"Yeah. I had a blast," the teen replied, minding his staff as he entered the home. "Hey, did I mention I'm a Guardian? Because I'm a Guardian now."

"You're going to have to tell me about that sometime, Jack."

"You first, Rory."

"Alright, I promise."

* * *

**A/N: **I ended this too abruptly for my liking, which is why I've been leery about posting this for a while. If I get enough feedback (or if inspiration knocks me in the head), I'll write the extra bit that I originally wanted as my ending. Tell me if you find any grammatical mistakes. Thank you for reading!


End file.
